


Right Before My Eyes

by gothpandaotaku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sam, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/pseuds/gothpandaotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going on a hunt is never really a good idea. Going on a hunt while pregnant is definitely a bad idea. Going on a hunt while eight months pregnant is possibly the worst idea anyone's ever had. Going on a hunt while eight months pregnant and Sam Winchester is downright suicidal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Before My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed more Mpreg in my life so I decided to write it myself. Takes place anytime after Cas heals Sam and takes on his crazy in season seven.  
> I. Own. Nothing. Except a locket with Sam and Dean's picture in it that gives me all sorts of ideas why they're standing so close together.

Timber shakes these trails, they are derailed  
Phony, false and frail  
An empty ocean  
Lost our way with no direction home

Golden needles, names we take in vain  
Find it harder to remain  
No nothing sacred  
Still waiting on that explanation

Right before my eyes  
I saw the whole world lose control  
The whole world lost control  
Before my eyes uh-huh

I fell through the floor  
I couldn't take it anymore  
I can't take this anymore  
It breaks my mind uh-huh

-"Right Before My Eyes" by Cage The Elephant

* * *

 

 

Many, many times in his life Sam was sure he’d go crazy—real, batshit, certifiable crazy—just not like this.

He thought he’d been going crazy when, after being sick every morning for almost two months straight and the barely noticeable softening of his stomach, he stole a pregnancy test from a gas station.

He _knew_ he was crazy when the test came back with a positive pink plus sign once, twice, three different times.

When Dean saw the same thing though, the same crazy, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They could get through _this_ in one piece.

He should have known better.

Nothing compared to the downright insanity he felt bubbling at the surface seeing Dean torn away from him, ripped right out from his grasp, before his very eyes, until the Wendigo threw him against a tree and everything went black. Unable to do a damn thing as the Wendigo threw an unconscious Dean over its shoulder and ran back to wherever the hell its cave was. They hadn’t found it yet, but they had a suspicion it was near some natural rock formations deep into the forest.

It was all Sam’s fault.

Dean had thrown himself in front of Sam to protect him; Sam, who shouldn’t have been there in the first place being eight months pregnant and all, but he had argued and argued until Dean had given in. They only took the case because one of the few surviving Hunter friends they had left had practically begged them to. It should have been easy. Their friend Waylon suspected that the Wendigo was old, nearly ancient, and shouldn’t pose much of a problem. But Dean had been caught off guard while focusing solely on protecting Sam.

It was _all_ Sam’s fault.

So here he is, stumbling through the pitch-black forest in the middle of the night with a sprained ankle, a broken rib or two, and a deep gash on his forehead that kept leaking blood into his eye. And oh yeah, his huge eight-months pregnant belly leading the way in front of him.

He wasn’t even sure he was heading in the right direction. He couldn’t see a damn thing since his flashlight had gotten snapped in two during the Wendigo attack, and their backpacks had gotten smashed. No cell service this deep in the forest, so no help was coming. But there was no fucking way he was leaving this forest unless his brother left with him. Nothing was going to stop him. Not the ache in his ankle, the fiery burn in his ribs, or the urge to curl up in a ball and cry for his brother that threatened to overwhelm him every passing second Dean was not in sight.

Fucking hormones.

Sam took another shaky step through the dark forest floor, only to nearly fall flat on his face when his sprained ankle got caught in a root peeking out of the dirt. He flung his hands down just in time to avoid falling onto his stomach; his side took the brunt of the impact. His side with _broken_ ribs.

White-hot pain radiated throughout his entire body and for a moment he may or may not have given into that urge to just lay there and sob.

But Dean was out there. Alone. With a Wendigo intent on having him for dinner. And Sam was not going to let that happen.

The only good news was, that he hadn’t lost his pocket knife or flare gun in the fight and it was still tucked safely in his jacket pocket. _When_ he found Dean he could flambe the Wendigo and dance over its ashes.

He lay there for a minute on the cold forest floor, rubbing gentle circles over his distended stomach in an attempt to call himself down. He wouldn’t be able to save Dean if he couldn’t think straight.

Getting up on a good day was, not that Sam would ever admit it, easier said than done. With how large his stomach was his balance and coordination were shot. Normally he had to, begrudgingly, ask Dean for help in getting up from a sitting position. This time he had no support whatsoever. It took him several minutes and herculean effort, but he eventually made it to his feet. But when he stood, he swayed and had to steady himself on a tree trunk to avoid falling on his ass again.

“Come on, Baby,” Sam whispered to his middle as he took a step forward on shaking legs, “Let’s go get Daddy back.”

* * *

 

Fuck, it was getting hard to breathe.

Sam’s ribs were throbbing dangerously as he wheezed through another breath. He really, really hoped one of his broken ribs wouldn’t puncture a lung or something.

But he supposed if he couldn’t get Dean back, he would welcome it with open arms. So at least he had some kind of insurance.

The sky was more gray now than black, so he prayed the sun would be up sooner rather than later. He took another step forward and ignored the way the world spun.

* * *

 

Sam was pretty sure he was going to die out here.

He’d walked for miles and miles and the sun was at its highest point now and sweat dripped down his back, and still he had not reached the Wendigo’s lair. He was about 90% sure he was heading in the right direction. His entire body sang with pain every time he so much as breathed.

Time seemed to flow differently out here while isolated under the thick canopy of the trees. Every second was a minute, every minute was an hour. Sam thought about anything and everything to keep his mind alert and resisting the temptation to just let his legs give out like they wanted. He thinks about what it will be like when he finally gets Dean back; the way Dean’s warm body will feel against his when he gets Dean safe in his arms again. He wonders what their child will be like—will it take more after him? Dean? He thinks Dean, because the kid wouldn’t stop kicking him for the longest time, and Dean never could sit still. Funny how it took a Wendigo to finally force him to think about his own child.

They hadn’t even _named_ it yet.

He forces the images of finding his brother’s _bones_ instead out of his head every time they come.

Sam takes another step forward.

* * *

 

It isn’t until the stars are out once more, twinkling as if to say “ _Lookit, another day gone, and still no Dean,”_ that Sam finds the cavern the Wendigo calls home. He almost misses it because it’s nestled between two incredibly large oak trees that nearly obscure the opening, but when he passes by it every nerve ending in his body comes to life and hums with the knowledge “ _Dean’s here! Dean’s here!”_ Sam knows it as sure as he knows every freckle on Dean’s nose.

It’s incredibly stupid to go in without a plan, he knows that, but before he knows it his body is moving on its own in as much of a dash as he can muster towards the opening of the cave.

Dean is strung up from the ceiling by a rope when Sam makes his way inside, pocket knife drawn. His brother is still unconscious, but looks otherwise intact. Sam lets out a breath he’d been holding since the moment the Wendigo took Dean. He makes quick work of the rope holding Dean up, trying to be as quiet as possible when he eases him onto the ground.

“Dean,” Sam whispers as loud as he dares while shaking his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, you gotta wake up right now, man.”

Dean is slow to respond, causing the cold sting of worry to spread through Sam’s veins. He needs to get Dean out of here yesterday. But wake Dean does, blinking rapidly and already whispering “Sam,” before he’s even aware of what’s going on. Sam could sing.

“I’m right here, Dean. It’s okay. We’re gonna get out of here,” he mouths back. Dean looks a little confused as he reaches for Sam’s face and wipes a thumb over Sam’s cheek to have it come back wet. Crying. Sam’s crying. Why is he crying?

 _Fucking_ hormones.

Sam shakes his head and motions to Dean that he’s going to help him up. Dean groans softly; he probably has broken ribs too and Sam makes a mental note to take a look at them as soon as they get back to civilization. He ignores the protests of his own broken ribs and lets Dean lean on him heavily as they stumble towards the mouth of the cave.

And then Sam is knocked off his feet as the Wendigo barrels into him.

By the grace of the god he no longer believes in, Sam manages to land on his ass instead of his stomach. He hears the Wendigo roar as it stalks toward him once again. Waylon was right, the thing looks decrepit. Its skin is ashen and sagging pitifully, its eyes are cloudy from what look like cataracts, and it looks like its been starving.

“Sam!” Dean screams and struggles to stand.

Sam can’t answer because the Wendigo’s wrinkly and bony hands are wrapped around his throat. He fumbles to wrap his fingers around the flare gun in his pocket and pull it out, but black spots start appearing in his vision…

“HEY YOU BAG OF BONES! OVER HERE! This sweet ass is the one you want, isn’t it?” Dean screams, brandishing the gun loaded with silver bullets that had been tucked into the waistband of his pants. It wouldn’t do much against a Wendigo, but it served its purpose—the Wendigo looked away.

He manages to grasp the flare gun and fires it in the Wendigo’s face as it turns back to howl at Sam and it goes up in a ball  of flame screaming, but not before the Wendigo delivers a slash with its yellowed claws across  Sam’s stomach.

“NOOOOOO!”

Sam distantly feels Dean’s hands on him, trying to stop the flow of blood; hears him utter shaky assurance that he’ll “be okay, we’re gonna fix this, Sammy,” that no one believes. He registers the brief sensation of droplets of something wet hitting his face— _tears?_ —before everything goes black.

* * *

 

When Sam wakes up it’s to the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor. That immediately tells him he’s in a hospital…

 _‘Oh god,’_ he thinks as everything comes rushing back. He remembers the white-hot pain as the Wendigo’s claws sank into his flesh and he wants to throw up. Heart racing, he shoots up in bed and throws the scratchy hospital blanket to the floor. With shaking hands he rubs a hand over his… still distended stomach. It’s still _hard._ As if there was still a baby in there.

The door to the room flies open and suddenly Dean is there, staring at him with wide green eyes and immediately rushes to Sam’s bed.

“Sammy? Thank god you’re awake—why the fuck are you sitting up? Lay back down!” He lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pushes him back down. It doesn’t take much, barely a ghost of a touch, and Sam ignores how much that irritates him.

“What’s going on? How did we get here? I mean, I’m a pregnant guy, which guys don’t do—am I still pregnant? The baby-?”

“Is fine,” Deans says and smiles. “The Wendigo got you good, but its claws were so dull they didn’t go very deep. The scratches are mostly superficial. It helped that you didn’t get hit in the center of your stomach, but more to the side.”

Sam’s entire body goes weak with relief. He lays a protective hand over his stomach without consciously thinking about it and just lets it rest there, needing to soak up the knowledge that his baby is still safe and sound in there.

He look up at his brother and notices that the bags under Dean’s eye have bags. And that Dean should probably be hospitalized as well, because didn’t he have broken ribs? He distinctly remembers the bruising covering most of Dean’s exposed skin.

“You look like shit,” Sam comments. “Why aren’t you stuck in here like me? And how are you even pulling this off without doctors wanting to dissect me?”

Dean raises an eyebrow in amusement, but answers Sam’s questions good naturedly. “It’s been five days, Sam. I’ve already been discharged. You’ve been out the entire time, on the other hand. I guess the exhaustion of trekking through the forest for two days without any nutrition to speak of and taking down a Wendigo single-handedly really takes it out of an eight-months-pregnant guy.”

“That’ll do it,” Sam nodded.

“As for how we got here, Waylon decided to follow us when we didn’t call after several hours. He tracked us through the forest and found us in the cave almost right after you passed out. He knew a short cut to get us to civilization fast, and apparently a doctor here owes him, so he’ll keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him.” The dark look in Dean’s eyes made it very clear Dean would make sure of that. Usually Sam has to reprimand Dean for threatening civilians, but for now he found it strangely comforting.

He’d slept for five days, but somehow he was still tired, so Sam let his eyes drift close. Just as he was on the edge of unconsciousness he felt a hand on stomach and nearly jumped out of bed. He blinked at Dean, who was standing in front of him looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Sam just stared at him until Dean offered an explanation.

“It’s just—I think we need to, to stop, um, ignoring… _this_ ,” he gestured to Sam’s stomach, “and face the fact that _this_ is really happening. _I_ need to face it. No more hunting while pregnant, Sam. Okay?”

“…Okay.” Dean was right. Sam wasn’t taking any more chances on losing their baby.

These past eight months they’d only spoken of the kid in hushed tones once—when Sam told Dean he was pregnant. They’d accepted it, and that was that. Every now and then Dean would pull Sam aside and ask him with a serious tone “How are you doing?” and he was _always_ staring at his belly, but that was the extent of it. If Sam was completely honest, it would be a relief to actually talk about it.

Fuck, they were having a _baby._

“Um…C-can I?” Dean asked softly, pulling Sam out of his epiphany that _he was actually having a fucking baby in a month_.

“Huh? Can you what?”

Dean flushed and pointed to Sam’s stomach.

 _Oh._ Sam finally got it. Dean wanted to feel his stomach. It was the first time he’d ever asked or shown any inclination that Sam’s stomach held any interest to him, other than the constant staring at it.

Sam outright blushed like a friggin girl, but he said “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Like that was what he’d been waiting for all along, Dean firmly put both hands in the middle of Sam’s distended belly. After a few moments of gazing in wonder, he grinned so wide it took up half his face. It was the kind of way he used to smile when they were kids and halfway innocent. Sam hadn’t seen that smile in _years._

Sam smiled back just as widely, and if when Dean dropped down to place a kiss on his stomach a tear or two might have fallen, he kept that to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Pleeeeeease leave a comment? I will love you for the rest of eternity. And beyond.


End file.
